


The Life of a True Telmarine

by marmota_b



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Healer Queen Lucy, Healing, Polynesian Telmarines, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7920622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmota_b/pseuds/marmota_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first Telmarine to walk through the Door to a new world came from among those who did not like the new situation in Narnia and did not trust Aslan.<br/>How, then, did he come to trust Him anyway?<br/>Maybe a Healer Queen and her brother helped some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life of a True Telmarine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydrangea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/gifts).



> Many thanks to Elizabeth Culmer for beta-reading! Hopefully it's better now. :-)
> 
> And hoping you'll like it, hydrangea, even though it became a bit... perpendicular? to your request in the telling.

**The Life of a True Telmarine**

 

I am Keola of the True Telmar. That is what we call this island, because we do not know what it was called before and it is our true home. The story of how we came here through the Door is told to every child, and that I was the first to go through it is also well known. But young people have been asking me lately how I came to the decision to go in the first place. This, then, is my answer and my story, to answer those families who are trying to teach those who were born here what being a Telmarine entails.

Like all those who came here through the Door, I was born and raised in the land of Narnia. But even though the country we lived in was called thus, we always remembered that we were Telmarines, proud to know where we came from.

I know now that we had not truly known that: not even Telmar was our true home. I also know now that caring little for what the land of Narnia was truly like and what its history and memories were was our failing. We thought it was ours by right of conquest and that it was ours to shape as we wished. We were wrong; in that world in particular, there are forces beyond human power, and they are not so easily bent to human will. But I did not know that then, and did not care to know. It is the nature of ignorance to think that one knows all that one needs to know. There were tales, and they were suppressed and feared. We told ourselves we were not anything like those beings in the stories, that indeed there was not anything like that, even as we knew well some of those things we dreaded in story truly existed, not that far from us.

Living here now, I know we were fools to dread the sea. The sea is life, even if it can be deadly, too. It is not the only thing of that nature, as you will see.

 

* * *

 

My name was given to me by my grandmother, who reared me up, as was the custom in my family and other peasant families like mine, where children would often be brought up by family members other than their parents. But in my case, there was no other choice, for my father had fallen in battle soon after I had been born, and my mother had followed him not long after. My grandmother, who was a healer, said my mother had always been frail, but I had my father’s strong soldier’s constitution. Growing up, I often observed her at work, fascinated by the variety of ailments and their cures. But I was a Telmarine and a man; true Telmarine men were fearless warriors, not healers (who were needed from time to time, and probably feared for their knowledge, but dismissed as soon as not needed). And so I had other ambitions. After my grandmother died, I joined the army as soon as I could, together with another young man from a nearby village whom I would meet at marketplaces from time to time. I rose in the ranks and eventually became one of the King’s Hundred, the most elite of Telmarine soldiers in Narnia. Many of Miraz’s closest aristocratic compatriots and co-conspirators were in that unit. I was not a nobleman, but I was a very good soldier.

Prince Caspian's uprising began shortly after my promotion, and I marched with the rest of Miraz’s army to suppress, indeed kill, all the rebels in support of the runaway Prince.

They were not like any other rebels I had ever heard of or encountered. These were Old Narnians, the True Narnians. They were not human; they were Talking Beasts and spirits of the land. You have heard of them. You may have heard fearsome stories of them.

My story of them is not fearsome, although it may start out seeming that way.

We were, at first, victorious. We cornered the rebels in the woods. We feared the woods as we feared the sea, but we were the King’s Hundred and the others followed our lead, and so we pressed on and persevered.

My first indication that this would not go on as planned was that Prince Caspian’s army persevered as well. Even in all their misery and losses, they had something we did not. They were on their home ground. They knew what ground it was they were walking on; we did not. In the country of Narnia, they also had the weight of legends and history on their side. We would learn that soon enough.

One day, legend and history walked into our camp. Carrying the flag of negotiation, flanked by a centaur and a giant – and surely he should have been dwarfed by the giant, yet he was not – there came a young man the likes of whom I had not seen before. He had the air of an experienced warrior, belying his apparent age. And his armour would be the envy of Miraz himself.

I had learned to respect warriors like that; had I seen him as an enemy in the field of battle and not an ambassador under a flag of truce, I would have feared him yet craved to best him in a fight. I was therefore very curious about him; but I had my duties elsewhere in the camp. I did not learn who he was or what he had come to negotiate until he had left again. He was a legend, no longer suppressed: He was King Edmund of Old Narnia – older than we could have imagined; negotiating on behalf of Caspian and of his brother, King Peter. We laughed at the notion he might be who he said he was, yet, deep inside, I think all of us knew he was out of the ordinary. Why else had Miraz accepted the other side’s offer of a duel the following day?

That evening, Lord Glozelle came to me with instructions for the next day. He assigned me the duty and privilege of standing as a Marshall of the Lists with him and Lord Sopespian, and told me to watch the Narnians for the treachery that was sure to come, for what did beasts know of honour?

Treachery came, but not from the Narnians.

It was King Peter who fought with Miraz, and he fought well. But when Miraz went down, it was not of King Peter’s doing: he simply tripped and fell.

Knowing what I know now, I think Miraz’s heart had betrayed him in the moment. I still do not know what things can cause a strong man’s heart to fail, but overexertion in a fight with a younger and far more agile man would be among them. But then, I did not know any of that, and things happened so quickly I did not have time to consider. Glozelle and Sopespian had other plans: they leapt into the lists, shouting that King Peter had stabbed Miraz as he lay winded and helpless.

I knew the Narnian warrior had had no time for it, but I was a Telmarine soldier and I followed my lords' lead, followed them into battle; the others rushed in after me. But the Narnians reacted quickly, too. Before I knew it, King Edmund was facing me with his sword, his face determined.

He made very quick work of me, gave me wounds in my leg and my arm, which may have left me alive, but quickly rendered me incapable of fighting. I do not know if he would have gone on to deliver a killing blow, because just as soon as the fight started, the power balance shifted for good. The Trees had woken and the whole forest rushed to fight on the Old Narnian side.

We were gripped in fear, and fled – or tried as best to flee as we could. Fear does strange things to you. The fear that day gave me strength to run even with my wounded leg. Then, down at the river, our once proud army stopped. For most, this was because the bridge was no longer there. Me, I simply collapsed. I had lost more blood than could be healthy for anyone, and it had finally caught up with me.

 

* * *

 

I regained consciousness to find myself again face to face with King Edmund. His armour was gone. Had I had the strength, I could have drawn my dagger – it was still sheathed at my side – and stabbed him dead there and then. My hand twitched in a soldier’s reflex, but before I had time to either strike or have second thoughts, he gripped my wrist and held my arm aloft and harmless.

“Don’t wriggle, that makes it more difficult,” he said. “Please. It’ll be all right.”

His eyes were calm and focused. I did not understand, until my sight fell from his face to his hands on my arm and I realised that he was bandaging me.

“What? Why?” I blurted.

“I’d think that was obvious,” he said. “But Lucy says you’ve lost a lot of blood, so I guess it’s no wonder you’re out of sorts. That would be my doing, I’m afraid, although you really did not help matters with that long run.”

That was not what I was asking. He took a long, considering – and very disconcerting – look at my face, and clearly guessed as much.

“It’s one thing to kill a man in battle, but prisoners of war have a right to fair medical treatment.”

I had never been more stunned in my life.

“Besides, and more importantly,” he added, “Aslan would want me to.”

“Who’s Aslan?” I managed to ask.

It was not King Edmund who answered; instead, a young girl spoke from the left, beyond my field of vision:

“The one True King.”

She came into my view. She was younger than King Edmund, really just a child. She was wiping her hands in a clean cloth; clearly, she had just washed them. She was young, but something about her actions and the light in her eyes reminded me of my grandmother as she tended her patients. I had not thought of my grandmother in a long time, not properly remembering her.

“You’re responsive, so that’s good,” the girl added. “It was very close.”

“I had to change the bandages,” King Edmund told her, in the manner of a soldier reporting to a commanding officer. “But I think he’s out of the woods now; the bleeding’s almost stopped.”

“Definitely keep lying down,” she told me, firmly. “And do what Edmund told you, don’t wriggle around. It’s bad enough that you ran so far – that alone could have killed you – and then we had to move you here.”

“Where?”

“Beruna,” she said. “It’s rather crowded for a whole army, but it was closest at hand.”

“Who are you?”

“Lucy,” she said.

“My sister, Queen Lucy the Valiant,” King Edmund said, more formally.

“And you are healers?” I asked, astonished.

“Well, to the best of my abilities,” he replied. “She’s the expert.”

“You are far too modest, brother.” She smiled at him, fondly, and I could see they indeed were brother and sister. She turned back to me. “Anyway, there aren’t many people among us who know how to treat _humans_ , you know. It’s a good thing you’re up, because we need to get more liquids into you. You did lose quite a lot of blood.”

“Up” was a figurative expression, since I was lying down and had been told by her to remain so.

I was only now getting my bearings. We were in a large room, probably a barn, and we were certainly not alone. By the looks of it, the barn had been transformed into a rough hospital, and there were many more wounded of our army lying and sitting on clean cloths stretched over makeshift pallets of straw. The truth of her words was confirmed and her expertise even more clearly proclaimed when she was called off by a rather distressed Beast – I think it was a Badger – to another of our wounded, who seemed feverish. I recognised him: it was Ahomana. We had joined the army together, and then years later we had parted ways bitterly when I had been chosen for the King’s Hundred and he had not.

I had said to him things I wished now I had not said. Maybe they would be the last things I would ever say to him.

“Make sure he drinks something. A lot of it,” the Healer Queen told her brother as she left us again. He nodded, once again reminding me of a soldier in deference to an officer, and asked:

“What if he needs to relieve himself? Can we move him?”

“Very, very carefully, and make sure that leg is secured,” were her final orders.

I was still confused and astonished. Never in my life would I have expected a king and a warrior to also be a healer, let alone to defer to a girl’s expertise.

But her expertise was undeniable.

 

* * *

 

The next day, I finally heard the account of what had happened at the river. I learned of the missing bridge and how we had been taken here to Beruna, while most of the Narnians had stayed on the other side of the river. But most importantly, I learned of the Lion, the terrifying High King of Narnia.

The one True King, I remembered.

I also learned that Aslan, the Lion, had given us Telmarines a choice. Remain in Narnia under the rule of King Caspian and live in peace with all its inhabitants, or go to a different place that Aslan had chosen for us.

Others around me spoke of the Lion in fear and loathing and contempt, among them Ahomana, whose quick, truly miraculous recovery at the hands of the Old Narnian Queen had not stopped him from despising her and hers. But I could not stop thinking of King Edmund’s words. He and his sister had saved my life because the Lion would have wanted them to. They had saved Ahomana’s life, too. Surely, then, the Lion wished for our well-being after all? I did not understand why, but I could not deny what I had experienced.

I pondered my options. Remain here in the newly restored Old Narnia in the service of the new king, or go wherever the Lion sent me? I felt I could not very well do the former, not after my long service to Miraz and not after following Glozelle and Sopespian’s lead even as I had known – for I had been close enough to see what had truly happened; it had been my duty to see – that it was we who had forfeited the duel.

I feared the latter, for much the same reasons.

But on the fifth day, in defiance to my orders from the Queen, I found a crutch and walked to the place that the Lion had ordained; thankfully, it was not far from Beruna and the makeshift hospital. I do not know exactly why I decided that way in the end. But I think I wanted to see Him who would have wanted me to be healed.

I saw Him, and I saw the Door. He was great and fearful and astonishing and I could not look at His face for long. But He spoke with wisdom and with – I dare say it now: with love.

He spoke to us of the place we had come from, where he would send us back to. He spoke of our people’s history, of pillaging and murder and rape. And I thought, we had imagined ourselves a noble warrior race before. Even now some in the crowd said that coming from the same world as the Kings and Queens of old made us better than the Old Narnians. I heard Ahomana’s voice among those, conversing with a group of men I knew from the King’s Hundred. I stood apart from them now, apart from both of my old lives.

We were wrong about it all. We were bandits who took by force what did not belong to us. And it was not their origins that made the Kings and Queens who they were. It was their actions that made them noble, and their actions had been so very different from ours. Where we would have left wounded enemies for dead, where indeed Glozelle had stabbed his own fallen king in the back, they had treated our wounds. They had saved my life.

I saw the way Queen Lucy and King Edmund, standing there together with their other two siblings, looked at the Lion without shame or fear, and I wished I could do the same.

I wished I could be a healer, not just a warrior.

And as I thought of that, I thought that if we took the Lion’s offer and went to that island in the new world, we would need healers, not warriors. We would have no one to fight except each other. We would need to learn peace lest we destroy ourselves, like those pirates on the island did before us.

I thought that with so many of us thinking and speaking the way we did, we _would_ destroy ourselves, unless someone treated our wounds and saved our lives.

I did not think I was up to the challenge. But that one thing remained of the Telmarine warrior in me: I did not want to run away from a challenge. I had run in fear once, and it had nearly cost me my life. Queen Lucy had said so, and she was the expert.

I stepped out of the crowd – I had to push my way through, and my arm began to throb, but I ignored it for the moment – and I said, “Well, I’ll take the offer.”

The Lion looked at me. I was trembling, both with the pain that suddenly hit me and still with fear of Him.

“It is well chosen,” He told me. “And because you have spoken first, strong magic is upon you. Your future in that world shall be good. Come forth.”

I did. The Narnians drew aside for me, and I passed to the Door between Queen Lucy and King Edmund, who were both looking at me encouragingly. I looked up at the Lion, now very close to me.

He bent down to me, saying “Go through it, my son.” His nose touched mine, and I was filled with warmth. The pain stopped. Memories flooded in. Memories of my grandmother and all the things she had ever told me of the healer’s job.

I knew then that Aslan knew of my purpose and approved of it.

I squared my shoulders to face the challenge and walked through the Door into a different world, towards a new life.

The only life worth living for me, with Aslan’s breath filling me. He wanted me to live. He called me His son.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in this world are a Queen and a King who would not have considered victory complete if the prisoners of war were left to die. Remember that the next time someone speaks to you of what true Telmarines are like. Our future in this world started because of that. I would not be here if it were not for them. And I was the first to go through the Door.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _There was silence for a moment. Then a burly, decent looking fellow among the Telmarine soldiers pushed forward and said:_  
>  _“Well, I'll take the offer.”_  
>  _“It is well chosen,” said Aslan. “And because you have spoken first, strong magic is upon you. Your future in that world shall be good. Come forth.”_  
>  _The man, now a little pale, came forward. Aslan and his court drew aside, leaving him free access to the empty doorway of the stakes._  
>  _“Go through it, my son,” said Aslan, bending towards him and touching the man's nose with his own. As soon as the Lion's breath came about him, a new look came into the man's eyes - startled, but not unhappy - as if he were trying to remember something. Then he squared his shoulders and walked into the Door._  
>  _\- Prince Caspian_  
>   
> 
> I, obviously, expanded on that, although I came at it from the other end. In keeping with Hydrangea’s request for either Edmund or Lucy as a second-in-command to the other, I wanted a story in which Edmund would be the second-in-command to Lucy’s Healer Queen. It became an Outsider POV kind of story to that dynamic in the process.  
> And I’ve just realised at the last moment that I messed up canon because the third Marshall of the Lists in the book is referred to as a baron. Oh well.  
> I took the liberty of giving a Polynesian name to my narrator (namely, Hawaiian, which is admittedly a concession to the fact I’m not in any way or form Polynesian). And Polynesian-ish background: from what I can learn, that is indeed the common practice of child rearing in Polynesian societies. I operate under the assumption that even though Telmarines in Narnia do not remember their origins in our world consciously, some things still carry through. We have someone named Gwendolen. I think it’s only fair to have the other side of their heritage in there as well.  
> Anyway, the internet (behindthename.com) tells me Keola means “the life”, which is where the name of this story comes from. Where the “ola” part is allegedly “life, health, well-being, living, livelihood, salvation”. And that encapsulates the character’s story arc nicely.  
> (Ahomana allegedly means Thunder. I don’t know if he’s particularly thunderous, but maybe he’s all noise and no substance?)


End file.
